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romanarose · 10 months

Text

Take It All

Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Miguel fucks your throat. That's it.

Warnings: Throat fucking, choking, BALLS, gagging choking on cock, a whole lot of talk of spit (I have OCD, do you see what I do you for you all?), a lil bit of spitting up/some stomach bile shit, some struggling to breath. Fluffy at the end.

Anyway, enjoy, whores.

***********

“Just like that, asi mami, take it further”

Miguel had you pinned against the wall, strong legs keeping your shoulders pressed into the plaster. He gave you orders on how to suck his dick despite being the one forcing it down your throat.

“Think you can take it all this time?”

You mumbled in affirmative, throat contracting around his cock as Miguel groaned. Pulling out just briefly, you take a deep breath and he quickly thrusts back inside you, your throat burning with the stretch of him as he slides down your wet, warm mouth. Fuck, he was so deep, you couldn’t help touch yourself.

“Needy little thing.” He teases you when he sees your touching. “Does it turn you on when I abuse your little throat?”

With a whine, you scramble to reach up and grab his hand. You want him to feel it, to feel himself in your throat. Miguel, however, pulled out, causing you to whine again.

“Babyyyyy I didn’t tap out! You promised!” Miquel loved how you sucked cock, but he got nervous when he was in control, not wanting to hurt you. You had made him promise to keep going until you tap out, or unless he really thinks you need him to pull out.

He looks guilty, but smiles softly as he wipes your face with his sleeve. “Thought you were trying to tell me to stop.”

Jacking him off still, you grin up at Miguel. “No, I finally took you all the way! I was trying to show you that you can feel your cock in my throat!” Excitement was clear as you explain. You never were able to get that far before, and despite the drool falling down your neck and onto your low cut tank top and the heavy dark mark up of your eyes beginning to run, he thought you looked absolutely adorable.

Miguel had an idea; scooping you up, he sloppily kissed you, licking into your mouth as he carried you over to the couch. Before setting you down, he bit into your lip with his fangs, making just a little bit of bloog flow out. Laying you down, Miquel adjusted you, manhandled your body like a little malleable doll until you were in the perfect position; head hanging off the arm of the couch. Before continuing, he knelt beside you, massive hard carefully caressing your face. “I’m gonna fuck your throat like your pussy, sweet thing. That okay?”

You smile up at him fondly, and nod. “Yes, sir.”

It wasn’t long until he had lined himself back up at your mouth, confirming you rememed to tap his thigh twice if it was too much, and began pressing into you again. He was so damn thick it stretched your mouth wide open, and you concentrated on relaxing your throat. When he made it all the way in and he saw you could still breath through your nose, Miguel reached out to finger you, but got distracted when his eyesight caught a view… the tip of his cock poking a bulge in your throat.

He went feral after that.

Pulling out and thrusting back in quickly, Miguel was obsessed with watching his cock protrude through you, so big he was filling you up. His eyesight only strayed to swatch your body writhe and jolt, he pulled down the tank top you were in to take out your tits, groping them painfully for his own pleasure, but it only turned you on me.

“Such a fucking whore, letting me use your mouth as my little fleshlight. You like that? You like when I don’t care about getting you off, just using you for my own pleasure?” He pulled out of you, glops of spit running down your face, messing up your make up as he jerked himself while dragging his balls to spread the make up and spit, blood and precum all over your skin. “SAY IT!”

“Yes! Yes sir I love when you- mmpphhh” Whatever you were about to say was muffled by his balls in your mouth, and you moan around them as you suck and listen to the aggressive ‘fap, fap, fap’ of his hand on his own cock.

“Touch yourself, bebita,” Miguel pants. “Cause I’m about to cum right into your stomach.”

You did as you were told, finger fucking yourself to the rhythem he set into your throat with one hand and clawing into his thighs with your nails.

“Just can’t get enough of you, baby, mmmm so fucking good for me, just laying there and taking it.”

A cough, a gag, a deep breath; you refused to tap out, not when he was so close, not when the balls that rested on your face were tightening and he spoke.

Miguel wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing as he violently trust into you, using your throat to jerk himself off with your throat. Nail cutting into his tree trunk thighs, you cum on your fingers, throat tightening and releasing with every contraction, every pulsing pleasure inside your body.

“FUCK! Feel so goddamn good, almost wanna snap to this precious little neck in my hands, fuck, fuck, FUUUUCK!!

Stilling in your throat, Miguel bypassed his mouth, shooting his cum straight into your esophagus. As soon as he was done and saw how much you were struggling to breathe, he pulled out of you. Immediately, you turn over and cough, hacking up a lung as spit and cum falls out of your mouth. You gasp for air, struggling to get enough in to satisfy your lungs. The salty mixture inside you spit up into the floor along with a little stomach bile, falling onto his carpet. “Sorry” You breath.

Miguel kneels beside you, gently patting your back. “It’s okay sweetheart, just get it out”

You slow down, your airway cleared out and able to breathe again, and you collapse onto the couch exhausted. Multiple orgasms, several positions, your body sore and relaxed and messy and pleasured…

“Hey, carino, you alright?” Miguel asks, picking chunks of spit soaked hair out of your face.

He worries he hurt you, worries he took it too far, but is surprised to see you giggling.

“We have got to do that again.”

Miquel chuckles in return, kissing your disgusting forehead.

“Let’s give your throat a break for a few days, mi sol. I'm gonna draw us a bath.”

As you watch his bubble butt walk into the bathroom, he turns around. “Hey honey?” He says, body twisting a bit to reveal a cheeky smile.

“Yes, Miggy?”

“I’m proud of you, for taking all of me. I know it’s a lot.” He emphasized with wiggling eyebrows, and then proceeded to dodge the pillow you tossed in his direction, yelling some joke about ‘that’s not why it’s called a throw pillow!’

***************

I hope y'all enjoyed. is this a little like the throat fucking in Take Your Time? Yes. What about it.

Also, I think it's time smut acknowledge BALLS, whose with me?

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @eyelessfaces @littlenosoul @melodygatesauthor @ahookedheroespureheart @moonknightly

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whirlybirbs · 11 months

Note

I DIDNT ASK YOU TO CARE ABOUT ME 😭😭 YOU KNOW WHO

; — webs && whispers | miguel o'hara

summary: set pre-atsv. he's the hero. you're the villain. but, that's been changing, hasn't it? pairing: miguel o'hara / villain!reader (gender neutral) tags: pre-established 'situationship' aka hero v. villain, enemies to lovers, sexual tension thick enough you can cut it with a butter knife, established reader pseudonym a/n: ... the people asked, so the people got *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

EARTH-928B. NUEVA YORK. MANHATTAN. WEST & 13TH. 11:56 PM.

"You're a hard spider to find these days."

Miguel feels irritation slip up his spine long before the phantom shift of your voice meets his ears. It's a hazy sound, like a chorus of susurrations converging into one.

In the last few months, he's grown accustomed to it.

Miquel, however, isn't sure he'll get used to the way you slip in and out of space like the flea on the tightrope. Here nor there, always lurching between the frames in reality, always ephemerally present. And the sound — voices of past, present, and future all overlapping at once, then: silence.

In a disjointed stutter, you're suddenly close — encroaching on his personal space in a way that makes his lip curl. A flash of fangs emerges beneath his mask.

His back is still to you.

"I'm not in the mood, Whisper."

Beneath your mask, your face twitches. He sounds exhausted — though that isn't entirely new for Nueva York's un-friendly borough-stalking Spider-man.

"Are you ever?" you quietly chirp as you stalk up beside him; you cross your arms, "I'm inclined to think you're avoiding me."

Up here, on a penthouse roof backlit by the nightlife above and below, you watch tension ripple into his shoulders as he rolls his posture back. That black mask hasn't left the horizon. Tar-black eyes stare out over the city, only narrowing slightly at your accusation.

"We aren't friends."

He turns to walk away.

In a rush of hushes, you appear directly before him.

"Mierda—!"

"Sorry."

"We talked about that, Whisper," Miguel leans his weight onto one leg, reaches up, and pinches his brow through his mask, "It's called personal sp—"

You roll your eyes. You straighten up and move to step back, but — instead — shift a meter backward. You talk over him.

"Personal space, right, sure, Spidey," you slip towards the edge of the building, planting a boot on the lip of the ledge. You wind your arms tighter around yourself, "You're ignoring my question."

"You never asked one," he grits; against his better judgment, he moves to your side at the ledge.

"It was implied."

"I've been busy."

"Too busy for your nemesis?" you tsk and click your tongue.

He's looking at you now.

"Please. 'Nemesis' is hardly the correct title."

You scoff. Your shoulders bob. "Oh? C'mon then, Spider-bite, what is?"

It's a fair question — one that Miguel wasn't sure he has the answer for.

In the beginning, this little tango was rife with explosive violence, scalding anger, bloodied knuckles, and sworn endings. You were a terrorist, fated to exploit and destroy the people whose mistakes made you: Alchemax. He was the hero, destined to protect and serve the people of Nueva York. Good and bad.

Constant. Like the rise of the sun and the fall of the moon. Spider-man versus Whisper. Frontpage headlines. Time and time and time again.

Then, something shifted. Miguel can't remember when it began, or why... But, the collisions of fists became a tandem of fists. A team-up brought on by — was it Mysterio, maybe? You never liked the guy.

Lyla remembers. She remembers everything. The footage from the incident is shaky — blame the multiple CCTV views all meshed together in a hot tangle of the canon-relevant plot.

Spider-man is down on his luck. On his knees. Mysterio: laughing. Vitals: dropping. Three ribs: broken. Mask: compromised. Lyla's footage swivels inward, the sight of Miguel's one eye. A rageful carnelian smithed hard into a pained gaze.

Then, you. Standing: tall. Voice: rageful. Fists: lit with power and already cracking across the opalescent globe of Mysterio's helmet.

SPIDER-MAN IS MINE.

Yours.

When did that happen? When did you begin to see his side, when did you begin to admire the safe consistency he built in this city? When did you envy it? When did the rage fade at the thought of him? When did something more tepid, more comfortable crawl in?

You turn your face upwards; there's a when moment your masked gazes connect. For a moment, things are still. Slow. There isn't danger here, nor hatred nor anger. The tension is different. Palpable still, but it feels like swallowing roses more than blood.

He looks away first.

"Try 'Number One Annoyance'."

His voice is distant.

You hum. "Care to enlighten your 'Number One Annoyance', then? You've been gone. People have noticed."

He was afraid of that.

Miguel exhales tightly. "Get out of here, Whisper."

He can feel your scowl. Then, your physical form flickers for a moment. A wash of emotions is present — a tell. In the past, that was how he knew you were going to snap. Now, in this context, he isn't quite sure what to make of it. There's a rush of voices, smothered quickly by a grounding inhale.

You're quiet for a long moment then. Miguel's chest is tight — it's guilt.

"I'm only asking because I care," you finally say; it's like it's been wrenched out of your chest by his own clawed fist. It's an admission as quiet as the shadowed hushes that follow your every warp through space.

He reacts coldly. The only way he knows how to these days. "I didn't ask you to care."

The claws twist.

Another fast crackle, transparency pulsing quickly through your spine and nerves. Here nor there. Ephemerally calm. Like the ocean before a storm. Your face twists fast to his. Mask be damned. Miguel can see anger.

Guilt. And the dawning realization this was a mistake.

"It's better if I do this alone," comes the follow-up. It's... gentler. Still cold. Harsh.

You look away. "Do what?"

Your eyes stay affixed to the horizon. Spider-man doesn't move. The stirring in your chest hurts. Hurts worse when you realize he's right. After all, he's the hero and you're the villain. You both have roles to play. Parts to act. The show must go on.

"...A part of you knows I can't tell you that."

You sigh, rolling your neck, "You're right."

"...And a part of me wants to tell you."

It's quiet. Nearly inaudible. But you hear it. And you can't help the loose grin that flashes across your face at the admission. Your scoff is more like a huff. Gloved palms slip to your hips as you step back from the ledge.

Suddenly, the tension is different. Lighter. Like it was a handful of weeks ago before he disappeared into the woven stream of time.

Miguel follows suit. Beneath his own mask, his expression has lightened.

"Yea?" you ask, stepping back like a prey recognizing the hunt.

Miguel steps forward, shrugging easily. His voice is almost playful. "Yea. But, y'know, last I checked you're wanted on a new charge of grand larceny—"

"Oops. Sticky fingers," you chitter with a waggle of your hands. He watches you slip downward and through the fabric of space. You emerge behind him in a whisper of wind.

Miguel is quick, he catches your hand with a web and tugs. You let yourself land in his grip — his black-gloved hand wraps around your wrist. He knows you're allowing this. You could easily wash away through the air, manifest around him in any three-meter radius.

The closeness is tight.

"While the Spider's away..." he tsks.

Your glove slips around the web and tangles it tightly in your fist. You push back and move around him. He's allowing this. His arm crosses behind his back. You absently admire the ripple of muscle there.

Then, you unceremoniously kick the back of his left knee and he crumples. The grip on his hand is tight. Miguel grits his fangs.

"Play nice," he warns.

"I've known you long enough to tell when you're stalling, you know," you let slip the chirp with a sly look at the black and red Spider-man.

On cue, there's the hum of a patrol copter over your shoulder. A few blocks away, still, but it's coming. Somewhere, in the bowels of the city, sirens begin.

[ BOLO ALERT, MOST WANTED. ALIAS: WHISPER. ]

"If you leave now, you'll beat them by a minute," he says slowly, "Sixty-five floors is quite the trek."

You loosen your grip and gently shake the web from your hand. Miguel rolls his shoulder. You slip through time, landing before him in a low squat.

Your voice is sincere.

"Try not to be a stranger."

"No promises."

"I'd never ask for one," you call over your shoulder as you stand and move towards the far ledge. Your costume, as pitch-black as the darkest night, is light in red and blue from the arriving patrols.

Just like that, in a haze of voices and a whisper of time, you're gone.

And Miguel is left to himself on that rooftop, again.

#webs & whispers #spider-man x reader #spiderman x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara reader insert #spiderverse reader insert #spiderverse imagine #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv x reader #atsv

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devilfic · 4 months

Note

I just arrived after finding your delicious drabbled about Miquel where he ends up spareing with the reader and i-

I'm here looking directly at it 👀👀👀 it was soooo good and it's giving me huge brain worms!

Do you mind a small request? Somethkng along those same lines but reader and him end up facing an anomaly/enemy too dangerous that among has Reader killed, and that is where flight of right kicks in, and they are the one to bite the villain

And bam turns out they also have venom but... a more deadly kind of venom, and they never used it or told anybody because it happened something badnin their original world and had to hide it not to end up in danger

I see the vision, but walk with me

❝things we do❞

plot: you lost your husband in another universe. you wouldn't make that mistake again... even if it meant betraying the promise you made to yourself. pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader. cw: kinda dark!miguel, slightly ooc miguel, angst, established relationship, major character death (in alternate universe), takes place before atsv, dubious morals, murder, miguel brings a sort of "killing is ok under certain circumstances" vibe to the spider society that the spider society don't really like, happy ending? you decide. words: 2.4k.

The weight on his chest is unbearable, stronger than anything he's ever handled before, and he hasn't felt this kind of fear in a while. He's staring at the mauling dog of a villain that he's barely holding back and thinking that this might be it. The other Spiders are busy fighting off its minions, he's lost too much blood, and this thing—in its animalistic haze that has rendered its humanity an unwilling witness—wants him dead. And you, somewhere across the room... he won't even get to say goodbye. There'll be nothing left of him to do so.

His arm is broken, pinned under one massive paw, and the other is stuck between the gnashing teeth of his soon-to-be killer. The suit is breaking. He can hear Lyla's voice distort. She's calling out to him, begging him to get up.

Miguel looks into the violet eyes of the anomaly whose gigantic canines Miguel's fangs could be no match for. He's going to die alone. He'd bother to sob if the effort to do so wouldn't kill him first. He shuts his eyes when his arm slackens a little, struggling to hold the monster back, and lets himself make peace with it. Whatever there is beyond this, he hopes his little girl will be there.

He feels the drip of the monster's hot drool on his face and awaits death like a gift, but nothing happens.

Well, something happens, but not to him. He feels the spray of something hotter on his eyelids, so hot it's almost boiling, and then the weight of his killer swaying one way and another, no longer able to keep his arm in its grip. Miguel opens an eye.

He doesn't know what he's expecting, but it isn't you. You're hanging off the anomaly's back with your face buried in its furry throat. He wonders what you could possibly be doing to it to make it whine for death the way it does. It almost hurts him to hear it.

The anomaly falls to its side, frozen from head to toe as if it had died from shock, and for a moment Miguel thinks that it had crushed you underneath its massive weight. He hasn't any strength left but he feels himself struggling to cry out your name, pushing against the gashes in his torso to try and crawl toward you.

He's on his side and panting when he sees you crawl over the beast and land beside him. Faintly, he's sure he hears your voice asking if he's alright, but his attention catches on red and white.

Gleaming, sharp, white fangs protruding from your mouth and dripping with the anomaly's blood. He's so stunned that he feels his own body seize up too.

He's known you. He's known you inside and out and over and over since you'd fallen into his universe, and he's never seen those.

You touch a hand to your mouth and freeze, and in but a second the fangs are gone as if they were never there. The blood of the anomaly you'd slain continues to dribble down the sides of your lips, though. It waterfalls down your chin, down your neck, down to the ring that hangs there—staining the gold band red. A reminder that it wasn't a trick of the light, what he'd seen. You'd bitten it.

In his position, he could see right into the anomaly's dead eyes. What was once a radiant violet had dulled, become lifeless. It stared back at him in horror. It hadn't expected to die. It hadn't had a chance to put up a fight.

Just what were you?

When Miguel comes to, he comes to violently.

The first thing he senses is the searing pain throughout his body. Every part of him is aching, begging for relief or numbness or amputation. He's never been beaten down this bad. The second thing he senses is the body beside him, propped up in a chair next to what he realizes is a hospital bed. He's... in the infirmary.

Jessica sits upright, her hand grasping for Miguel's but he pulls it away to free himself of the sheets his legs are tangled in. He knows he sounds frenzied and a bit slurred from sleep, but he's certain Jessica hears him asking where you are.

"Hey, whoa, sit back down," and Miguel doesn't have much choice against the full strength of her hand pushing against his chest, "you've been out for a full day. You're in no position to be moving right now."

A day had passed? That unsettled him. He demands to know where you are once more.

Jessica's brows knit together at that. He can tell there's something that's happened, but if there was anything he understood about Jessica Drew, it was that she always picked her words deliberately. Whatever answer she should deliver, she was struggling to.

She joins him on the bed bed, turned away from him, and rests her elbows on her knees. "Lockup."

His blood runs cold. "What?"

"They killed an anomaly, Miguel. You know the rules."

"It was going to kill me."

Jessica finally looks at him, "It?" Miguel swallows. He feels parched. "Miguel, it was a person. A person who wasn't supposed to end up mutated, let alone dead. We could have subdued them some other way. We could've brought them back to HQ, sent them back to their universe, let their Spider handle a cure-"

"Or it could've killed me in the process, which is why-"

"Which is why we've got Spiders working over time to fix the collapse in the wake of their death." Jessica sounds exhausted, and for the first time since waking, Miguel realizes that her marred skin is visible underneath the tears in her suit. "Look, the others don't know yet. They think it was a freak accident. And I'm glad you're alive. Over-fucking-joyed. But your partner... they messed up. Big time. Had it been anyone else, would you be reacting like this?"

Miguel says nothing. He knows the answer, and he's too tired to pretend he doesn't.

Then, the last thing he remembered hovers over his mind's better concerns. He wasn't sure how much Jessica (or anyone) even knew about how you killed the anomaly. You'd kept it from him and he was your lover. He knew everything about you.

Except this. "I want to see them."

"What did I just say?"

"Jessica, I don't care—I need to see them. Please."

"...That doesn't matter. I don't think they want to see you."

Miguel stills. He doesn't even feel the pain anymore, "What?"

"You think any of us were itching to throw them into lockup with you on death's door? They did it to themselves, and they won't talk to anyone. They just keep begging to be sent back to their universe."

Your universe. The universe you dreaded returning to. The universe where you lost your uncle and your aunt and your friends and your husband. He'd never been because you'd asked him never to come. And now you were begging to go back?

The heart monitor beside his bed starts picking up and Jessica places a hand over his. This time, he can't be bothered to pull away, "But maybe," she starts, like she's pushing through a bad idea, "maybe they'll talk to you."

It's hard getting into lockup with thousands of eyes on him, but most Spiders have enough sense to keep their distance. With Jessica clinging to his side and his hand guiding his IV pole alongside him, he's given a wide berth.

Some of the villains aren't so polite, and by the time he's reached your anomaly prison, his blood pressure has spiked enough to warrant putting him back in bed. Instead, he places a hand against the prismatic cage and speaks your name softly.

You look up and his whole world stops.

It's clear you've been crying, but worse than that, you look horrified to see him. You press yourself further away from him, as far as the bench inside will allow you. Your eyes dart to Jessica, "I told you to send me home." You sound betrayed.

"And then what? You can't run from this. Talk it out and see how you feel after." Jessica releases Miguel, giving him but a solemn nod before disappearing off into the main lobby.

"You were going to leave?" Miguel can't help the way his voice cracks. You almost look back at him, then.

It's silent between you for a while. Perhaps you're waiting for him to get frustrated and give up on you, or yell, or bang on the cage until you talk. You avoid his eyes and you keep to your side of the cage, head lowered, fingers trembling in your lap.

Miguel webs a nearby chair to him and takes a seat, "Does anyone else know?"

"No. Just you."

He about sighs in relief when you answer him. "Why did you never tell me?"

You make fists with your hands but they still shake all the same. A beat passes, "Because this isn't the first time I've killed."

Another beat passes. The shock of it is hard to wash down for Miguel. He feels his world teetering on its axis, a breath away from falling and shattering into pieces for the second time in his life. He tries to calm the flurry of thoughts—When? Who? How? Was it justified? Could you justify it to him? Could he justify it to himself, the Society?—and settles on one, "What happened?"

It physically pains you to recall it, and he regrets with everything in him that he had asked you to, "Back in my universe. When I was bitten, I was still learning how everything worked. I wasn't used to being this strong, let alone the venom and I... it was the night my uncle died. I saw the man that did it. And I found him. And I cornered him. And I was so..." You shudder, "I was so angry, Miguel. I wanted to hurt him but a part of me wanted him dead more. And it won."

Miguel and you sit with that. He can almost see it vividly, his own chest swelling with grief for you. For your uncle. For the burden you carry. "And?"

"And I swore I would never do it again. Never. But it... it cost me something, Miguel. And I never told you because I swore I wouldn't do that either. But, clearly, I'm all about breaking promises to myself lately."

Miguel frowns, leaning forward in his chair, wishing he could reach through the amber separating you both and just touch you, "You don't have to tell me. Not if you don't want to."

You finally look him in the eyes and he thinks you're thinking about it. Your mouth drops open anyway, "Remember my husband from that universe? The one I told you I lost because I was just a second too late?" Miguel nods. "I said I thought of every possibility but nothing would work. That was a lie. It wasn't entirely helpless. I could have saved him from that villain. But I would have had to kill to do it, and I just... froze. I just couldn't. And he died because of me."

Your lover shakes his head, warm tears prickling at his waterline, "No, no. No. Don't blame yourself for that. Don't... don't make yourself responsible for that villain's choice."

"But I wanted to, Miguel." You plead, and for the first time since he's sat down, you push yourself closer to him. "I wanted to do it to save him."

Miguel looks around. A nearby anomaly is staring on at the two of you, smirking, twirling a knife in between their spindly fingers. Spiders weave in and out of the room but it's a slow day. No one is around to hear what he says next, what he whispers to comfort you, "You saved my life."

Or what you say back, "I couldn't watch you die again."

It clicks into place. Why you never called your husband by name, why you never wanted him to visit your universe, why you almost walked out of the Spider Society the second you walked in. Why you looked at him, broken and beaten but safe, and recoiled. Why he'd always liked the look of that ring hanging from your neck. Like-

"I would've picked it myself. I can see why he chose it." His finger pokes at the ring with some feeling tugging between jealousy and sympathy. Knowing that it belonged to someone else, that it holds so dear to you even now, and that it was a part of the you that he never got the chance to know. "It's perfect."

You let your head fall to the side and smile into his pillow, "I thought so too."

It's quiet on the top floor. Not even Lyla intervenes. Miguel can't stop himself from asking, "What was he like?"

He half expects you to shut down but you don't. You stare into him, unblinking, somehow here with him and somehow far away, "Brave, kind, dashing in the heroic way and yet he preferred to be behind the scenes. He always supported me. Even before I lost him, he..." You choke up. Miguel's hand finds yours, "...he told me it was okay. That I'd done everything I could do. That he loved me. And that I should love again."

Miguel watches your chest heave with the weight of your confession, but more comes spilling out, "And you know what's funny? You... remind me so much of him. Like his love found me in you."

His mind flashes with images of Gabriella, of the man he'd replaced looking for home, and of the world that fell around him because of it.

And here you were. Telling him that you'd done nearly the exact same thing. Finding him in another universe. Tempting fate.

He should send you back to your universe. That's where you belong. You would have never killed again if it hadn't been for him, and keeping his distance could be the best thing for you.

The anomaly prison falls away. He issues the command to Lyla before he could even register the words leaving his mouth. You watch him in horror as he sits beside you, taking your hands into his own, and kisses your knuckles. His lips stay planted there for a moment, relishing in the feeling of your realness.

It is then that Miguel realizes he cannot bear to let go.

He keeps his head lowered, lips hovering a hair's length from your skin as his eyes lock onto you. You look like you've realized something, like you've been hit with the stunning clarity that you've done something terribly, terribly wrong, "And you won't have to."

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